Poor Claud and Bill arrived, senseless, almost lifeless. But kind hands staunched their wounds, allayed their thirst, and carried them on board the ship for Alexandria. There they found the first taste of that gentle peace which is soothing to the heart of every nerve-racked soldier. Nourishment soon brought them round. And, strange to say, both returned from the land of wanderings to the delights of reality at the same time.
"Bill! Bill!" muttered Claud as he came round. "I'm here, ole sport," said Bill, holding out his pale, wan hand.
"Good! But where's Paddy?"
"Sure, an ould Paddy's here," roared Doolan from a berth on the other side of the deck.
"Thank God!" And Claud tumbled into a more natural sleep, refreshed with the thought that at least two out of his three friends still lived.
Sips of brandy, drops of milk, clean bandages, and willing Australian nurses soon brought the genial three round to a more normal state. And in speaking of Australian nurses, let me say that they are the finest girls in the hospital world. They may laugh, they may flirt, but they can work. They have no side and no false airs. They want to do their job in the quickest, kindest, quietest way that can be found.
The great ship slipped through the breakwater of Alexandria. Hundreds awaited her coming—nurses, doctors, and friends. Bill and Claud could not get up to view the scene. But Paddy watched it all. His eyes scanned the faces on shore. At last they rested on a familiar figure—a girl with a beautiful form, a charming but an anxious face. Yes, it was Sybil Graham. He slipped down to the ward below and stepped to Claud's bed.
"I've seen her, and doesn't she look swate?"
"Who?" said Claud in a knowing way.